First Time Candy-Flip

Substances: Nitrous oxide, MDMA, LSD

There are a few stories I want to tell while I'm here on this earth and this is one of them.

A few years ago I had the misfortune of being stuck in my college town for Spring Break, owning to the fact I had just spent most of my money on a car and so couldn't really afford to go anywhere. Plus, I had an ok job, and my boss assured my if I stuck around I could work that whole week and replenish my illin' bank account, so I said "What the hell, I'll hang out here..." Never regretted it since!

I should start by explaining that the city I live in is mostly students: When we leave for break, the town's population is cut by about 80%, and those who are left behind find themselves without most of their friends, dealers, significant others, i.e., people whose opinions matter to them. So in true hillbilly style, normal rules of group behavior are cast aside and social deviancy occurs as a matter of routine. Spring Break, especially, makes for strange bedfellows...

One Saturday during this period of civil unrest, I happened to be looking for some fun and was not particular about how I found it. My live-in girlfriend had taken the opportunity to vacate town for somewhere else, leaving me (thank you, gawd!) alone. I had already determined that she would be dumped as soon as finals week was over, so my devotion to her was flagging and I think she knew it. (Remember that annoying "Jellyhead" song? It never annoyed me...I related to it.) Usually not one for extra-relational exploration, I decided now was the time for such a thing, and I looked forward to it eagerly. Opportunities for mischief were rife, and I was determined that they should not go wasted. No woman would be safe tonight...

Accordingly, I called up a guy I knew (who we shall call H) who was well known to play when the cat was away, and we conspired to go to a local club which is actually quite famous throughout the world of House Music. He came over to smoke a bowl and blueprint the course of the evening, and we planned to make ourselves into the world's most devious pimps, for one night only. As we were engaged in this seditious scheming, a friend of my girlfriend's named M came over.

He was someone who my girlfriend had once dated before she met me and remained friends with later, so he probably supposed he was my friend, too. Personally, I hated the guy. He was a stuck-up Miami-ite with no reason to be stuck up. His parents paid for him to live in a huge apartment by himself and gave him credit cards to buy an ever-changing wardrobe with, but he had no car and could hardly ever afford the high-quality weed that I made a habit of smoking. I disliked his pompous demeanor and supercilious attitude, and was patently jealous of the excellent stereo equipment he owned, paid for by mom and dad.

Since decorum prevented me from kicking his ass right then and there (which, by the way, I should have done, but that's another story) he somehow managed to insinuate himself into the evenings activities. Now, I have no idea how the idiot managed such a feat of social engineering, but somehow he did. It probably had something to do with H's friendliness and natural desire to add participants to the night's list of luminaries, but I was mad. Having this spy along ended my dreams of quick and sleazy sex.

Eventually we all agreed that I should drive (being the only one with a car) and we should leave for the club at midnight, and stay until such a time as we all had had too much fun. Additionally, it was decided to acquire some of those wonderful Smurfs (pure MDMA, I miss 'em). This was left for me to do, since I am a raver and therefore have all sorts of shady underworld connections. We broke our huddle, leaving it that I would pick them up at the appointed hour.

While at the dealer's house, I chatted genially and was therefore introduced to a wonderful deal on blotter LSD.

"Hmmm...I've heard that rolls and acid go really well together..." I mused out loud as I pondered the situation and fingered my bankroll.

"You've never 'Trolled'?" she asked incredulously, "You need to try it!" (Trolling is tripping + rolling. We don't go for that Yankee slang down here, mister.) Suitably convinced, I purchased two hits for myself, and a roll for each of the three members of my party, including myself. I then went home to rest up for the night's madness.

Arising from my slumber at about 11, I showered and shaved and got as pretty as a boy can be, hoping that M had fallen over dead of a brain hemorrhage or something equally fatal. It occurred to me then (being a huge fan of nitrous) that my nitrous cracker was at my best friends' house, and that the house was locked in anticipation of his return from Key West, several days hence. This disturbed me to no end, because I am a huge advocate of nitrous while on acid or pills, and the synergy of the three simply had to be tested personally. But I am a determined, resourceful, unscrupulous person, and I knew, one way or another, I would suck on many cubic liters of nitrous that morning. Some things cannot be stopped by either Man or Nature: my appetites are one of them.

At the appointed hour, I ate the two blotter hits and got in my car to fetch H. He was ready to roll, and so we ate our capsules and proceeded to M's apartment (who actually lived right next to me, but I saw no reason to pick him up first...) Grabbing M and heading down town, I suddenly felt very anxious to acquire for myself a cracker before the drugs kicked in and rendered me incompetent to do anything to help myself. I tried the dealer's to see if they had one I could borrow but they had gone out already. Now I was unsettled, because I do like my nitrous...

"Dude," H began self-importantly, "I'm friends with J, who works at the local head-shop. I'll get you a cracker for free!"

"No shit?" I asked, hopeful yet skeptical.

"No shit!" he replied. So we pulled over at the local head shop, which was convenient to our drive downtown anyway, and H went in. A minute later he came out with one of those cheap plastic crackers that they sell at a huge discount in order to move them. No one will buy them unless they get them on sale...

"No matter," I thought, "It only has to work for tonight and then it can break..." Duly relieved, we made no more stops until the nightclub. Along the way I felt the first, tentative whispers of the acid in my mind.

Arriving at the nightclub, one more pleasant surprise was to be found: H was friends with most of the staff, and so arranged for us all to enter for free. I began to like him more and more.

The same could not be said of M, who was making a royal pain in the ass of himself. He unwisely insisted on bringing a crate of records with him, on the off chance that the club might let him spin. (Even back then he fancied himself a DJ. Hope truly does spring eternal...) He even went so far as to ask me to help carry them, and got a nasty look in response. Once at the club, he quickly ditched me and H in order to go off and represent himself to the nightclub superstars, and me and H slapped each other five at this wonderful loss.

By now the acid was making itself felt hard, and the Smurf was starting to kick up its little white feet. H grabbed a seat on a speaker, and I told him I would be right back after availing myself of the bathroom. While there I did my business and then took a moment to look in the mirror and talk to myself. It is something I do at the beginning of each trip to remind myself where I am from and where I'm going; a pep talk, if you will. As I told myself that tonight was going to be a wonderful, beautiful night, my face suddenly grew wide-eyed and shocked as the acid and ecstasy hit me like a baseball bat to the side of the head. My reflection began to twist; the room contracted and expanded like a beating heart. An overwhelming wall of pure love and pleasure crashed over me and, I was in another world. Too late for pep talks, the game was beginning; the coin flip had already occurred and it was time for me, the quarterback, to lead my offense onto the field. I stumbled, dazed and smiling, out onto the dance floor.

The dance floor was a blur of lights, noise, moving bodies. Spring break had left the club empty of many of the usual suspects, but the annual drag-racing contest held that week had added strange new members: Curious rednecks and race fans who had heard the music and came to see what the excitement was all about. Normally I would have resented such an intrusion, but tonight it felt as though I was an ambassador: I had to show these strangers how we had fun in the city where I lived. I saw a kid who I knew seated and reclining against the wall. He was holding two glowsticks, and after a brief "Hey, what's up?" he agreed to let me use them. I put one in each hand, and with the floor clear except for five other dancers, put on a show for the tourists that they would not forget. My body moved as if it had been pre-programmed to dance; twisting, writhing, pulsing like a geometric, psychedelic angel on amphetamines. I loved every minute of it. I danced like I never had, reveling in the attention I got from the new comers and glad to be young and alive and free to join the music. Lords and Ladies, this is what it's all about. The acid phunk pumped like a beating heart, the colored spotlights blazed down like bonfires, the energy became alive and took control of me. It was awesome.

Finally, after I don't know how long, I had wore myself out. I returned the glowsticks to their rightful owner, thanked him and got compliments on my moves, and went to find H. I didn't care where M was...

I found H over by the bar, talking to a girl. "Trout," he said, introducing me to the new girl, "This is Heidi" I stopped, my jaw hit the floor. She was easily the most gorgeous creature I had ever seen; a perfect mix of cosmic earth mother, shy innocent schoolgirl, and demonic seductress. I would have been at a loss for words if I was in sober; but with the MDMA flooding my mind like a swollen river, I was in love and speechless. Anyone who has seen the Grand Canyon in person knows what I am talking about.

"Hiiiiiggghhhh," I moaned in exquisite pleasure, unable to think rationally as I took her hand gently in mine. She smiled demurely, and was obviously ready to hear more from me, but I was simply unable to speak. H, seeing my general state of flabbergastation, politely excused us from her glorious presence. Sad to say, I've never seen her since.

Me and H took seats where we could check out the dance floor and all who were in the club. M was off in a corner, boring someone to death and looking a little bored himself. We laughed at his predicament. Not our faults if he wasn't enjoying his roll! H was having a blast, and I was in a magical world I would revisit every chance I could. A woman, one of the tourists but in her early twenties and very attractive, walked across the dance floor, and H slapped my leg: she was looking right at me, and holding her vision steady as she moved. H gestured at me: Go get her! I obliged almost unwillingly, hoping that I could manage a better conversation than the one I had attempted with Heidi.

Introducing myself, we talked for a while, but the MDMA was making me very empathogenic and the strong sexual vibes she was giving me were unmistakable and somewhat intimidating. Plus the fact that M was present and would likely report this to my girlfriend in grossly exaggerated detail made me apprehensive. Finally I broke down and told her I had a girlfriend.

"That's ok," she replied quickly and without a trace of irony, "I've got a boyfriend."

I had no idea what to say to this. I was stunned at her brazen sexuality and (almost embarrassed to say it now) I chickened out. My loss...Won't happen again!

Well, the night began winding down around four, earlier than usual but that night the club never reached the 'critical mass' of madness that makes people want to party 'til they need an ambulance. Me and H decided to leave, pleased with ourselves, the drugs, each other, the night, and life in general. It had been a good night, and as his pill was wearing off it was time to drop him off at his girlfriend's and for me to go home to smoke a bowl and hit nitrous. I was still rolling nicely and the acid and pills seemed to be working in perfect syncopation, flowing in and out like a tide. At times I felt almost sober, at other times I was a melting pile of flesh and hallucinations.

I told M we were leaving, and he began following us out the long, twisting passage to the club's front door. M had been a stick in the mud all night, acting too good to laugh at our jokes and too aloof to dance or have any fun. When me and H got outside, we realized that M was no longer with us. He was not a good addition to the evening, and I teased H for inviting him. We lit cigarettes and waited, but finally H said: "He wants you to go get him." I was puzzled at how he could say this, but went back in anyway. Finally I found him, dancing ridiculously and acting like he was having the time of his life and couldn't bear to leave. I rolled my eyes and said: "I'm leaving! Come now or walk home!" I was totally disgusted with this pathetic display and didn't have the patience to humor him. He left willingly when presented with this alternative.

Finally, I dropped H off, and since M lived so close to me I decided not to bother driving him home. BIG MISTAKE. He took that to mean that the party was still going on, and followed me into my house.

I played the gracious host for a while; packing bowls while obligingly listening to his dull hopes of being a DJ, his unlikely theories of music, and his absurd aspirations to one day produce music. I had actually heard some of his compositions before, but I didn't have the heart to tell him he was awful. His music reminded me of BT, but without any talent: overdone, dis-unified, and entirely too complex to be enjoyable. By now the pot was bringing back the acid and MDMA with a steadily rising vengeance, and I was eager to get to the store for nitrous cartridges, which I had not gotten earlier. As the morning began to leave its infancy, it became clear that M would not leave until my pot was gone, but I had no intention of letting things go that far. Finally, after yawning, "uh-huh"ing, and making it subtly clear that I was bored with him, I simply said " The party's over. You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here!" (Verbatim what I said; unbelievable how blunt I can be when I have to, no?)

With M gone, I grabbed the keys and got in the car. It was way past time for nitrous inhalation; I wanted whippets! I got to the store and bought a box of 24. "Should be more that enough," I thought to myself. The Trout used to be sooo silly back when he was just a young fry!

Taking the precious whippets home, I set the stage: My favorite seat, my bowl and weed at the ready, the cracker in hand and poised, pumpin' house on the stereo. I inserted the first cartridge, tightened the screw and...Gas sprayed everywhere. I tried desperately to screw it in as fast as I could, but to no avail: one whippet lost to the atmosphere. I tried another, faster and more confidently; same result. To my horror it became clear the cracker was defective. I grabbed the keys once more, determined not to lose one more second of valuable trip-time.

I raced to the head shop, and quickly explained the problem. I was hopping for an exchange.

"These things are junk!" Howled the headshopkeeper. "I told that to H when he bought it!"

"H bought it?" I said, confused. It was a night of revelation.

"Yeah, and I told him he couldn't bring it back!" the headshopkeeper explained irately.

"Hmmm..." I thought. There was no chance of breaking into my friends' apartment for my tried and true metal cracker, so...The Trout got $40 out of his wallet and bought a new cracker. He was later very happy with his new purchase, as will be explained.

Back at the apartment everything was made ready again. The old K5 single "Passion" was put on repeat (This song may be a bit cheesy, but it has a lot of the stuff I love about house music: The steady, throbbing beat, the endless drum loops, the majestic, soaring vocals contrasted with the raw fury of screaming synthesizers. Besides, at the time I wasn't sick of it.) With everything set for lift off, I cracked the first canister and hit it.

The cold gas hit my lungs and a few seconds later the world grew dimmer. The pounding of the drums became my heart, the music intensified, and finally I shut my eyes and beheld the Other Side. Geometric shapes, DNA spirals that twisted and danced like snakes in a mating ritual; a circle of meditating Buddhas, each one identical. I saw colors that throbbed with the beat and changed hue with the pulsing frequencies of the synthesizers. It was awesome, magic, unreal and surreal and beautiful and cosmic. I hit whippet after whippet, rolling like an avalanche and tripping like a crazy man.

The box ran out and I hurried to get more. The headshop employees gave me funny looks, but knew exactly what was going on. I scurried home to take advantage of the last of my trip.

As I hit canister after canister, sometimes three at a time, I fell further and further into nitrous-land and each time I came out from it less and less. Finally, the universe conspired to show me something truly wondrous:

As I hit a whippet, the world faded away. I beheld a giant fractal, as complex and detailed as the Mandelbrot set. It was huge, infinitely exact, and awesome to behold. As the I held in the gas and slipped further and further towards unconsciousness, the fractal began to de-iterate; losing branches and legs, until finally, just as I had to let out the air, it became one simple perfect curve, which I will attempt to show you:

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It was the most awesome thing I had ever seen. The Grand Canyon comes to mind again; if you haven't seen it, you wouldn't get it. It was mathematically perfect and beautiful. I had no idea what it meant, but it must mean something. You don't see shit like that and have it just be a pretty picture...

That was the peak of the trip. From there, I hit a few more whippets, but the shapes I was were fading and less dramatic, as if they had come for the party and now knew it was time to be going.

The Trout sighed, cracked open a beer, and fired up his pipe once more. It had been a magical night; an experiment definitely worth repeating.

Months later, as I was browsing a web page devoted to astrology, I came across that shape again. It is a representation of the sign of Leo, my astrological sign. What it means, I have no clue, but it means something more than just coincidence. I only hope I can see it again before I die. I tried to get a line drawing of this into the report, but no dice.